Skin
by LetTheWildRumpusBegin
Summary: Yamamoto helps Gokudera dye his hair and they sex. Vague 8059 smut.


Written a while back for the anon kink meme on lj. The prompt was "sensual smut revolving around hair dye." Vague 8059 smut, set sometime between now and then.  


* * *

Perched on the edge of the bathtub, Yamamoto felt the smallest twinge of sympathy for Gokudera. He looked down at the box in his hands, ugly gold foil shining up at him. "BLACKEST BLACK" it read. He let his gaze wander through the haze of cigarette smoke to the pale form standing in the middle of the small room, breathing out the noxious cloud. He was saying something, but Yamamoto had stopped listening a while ago.

Not that he was ignoring Gokudera, but he knew that the storm guardian wasn't actually talking to him anyway. No, no, Gokudera liked to think with his mouth open. A creature who throve on the flash and bang of explosions, Gokudera wasn't terribly fond of silence, and strove to chase it away whenever it threatened to descend. Silence was for funerals, for graves and dead people. Gokudera was not dead.

Yamamoto's eyes fell back to the box of hair color. Reborn had made it clear that their next mission would require utter anonymity, pointedly remarking that the storm's unusual hair color was going to have to change. Initially, Gokudera had spluttered like an angry cat, pacified only when Reborn pistol-whipped him in the face and reminded him that it was for Tsuna's protection.

For some reason, it made Yamamoto sad. He liked Gokudera's hair.

It took him a moment to realize that Gokudera had stopped talking and was looking at him with that 'what the fuck is wrong with you' look. It made him laugh.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, are you gonna dye my fucking hair or what?" The cigarette hung from his lips at an irritated angle, and Yamamoto couldn't help but feel vaguely jealous of the carcinogenic roll of paper.

"Yeah."

"Well hurry the fuck up."

"You should probably take your shirt off," Yamamoto advised, slowly tearing open the top of the box.

"Shut up," was the sharp reply. "Don't tell me what to do." Sulking and arrogant, Gokudera pulled his shirt off, and folded it neatly, setting it on the back of the toilet. Glowering defiantly at The Idiot, he silently dared Yamamoto to say something. Challenge unnoticed, Yamamoto picked through the contents of the box, almost frowning. Coloring your hair was... complicated, apparently. Smiling a little less widely, he looked up at Gokudera.

"What." Bottle green eyes, sharp as shards of glass.

"I like your hair how it is," Yamamoto grinned a little sheepishly. "It's... pale and stuff."

"Pale and stuff." Obviously unimpressed, Gokudera pursed his lips.

"Yeah. You know. Like it'd be really soft to touch." Shifting a little, Yamamoto looked down at his hands, then back up at Gokudera's hair, thinking how easy it'd be to just reach out and touch it.

"You're an idiot," Gokudera stated flatly. Yamamoto laughed.

"Can I?"

A blank stare. "Can you what?"

"Touch it?" Faintly hopeful. Kind of like a puppy. What. The. Hell.

"Who the _fuck_--?!" Flailing and, to his eternal shame, blushing, Gokudera backed into the sink.

"Please?" He moved a little bit closer, and Gokudera noticed that he smelled like soap and cut grass and faintly like Old Spice. Frowning grotesquely, he looked away, sulkily letting Yamamoto reach out and pat his hair.

"Are you happy now?" he grit out, trying to ignore the way the idiot's fingers were rubbing at his scalp, and how it made little pricks of pleasure roll down his spine.

"Your hair is really nice," Yamamoto observed with a touch of awe, not pulling his hand away.

"Of course it's nice," he snorted. "Now hurry the fuck up and mix that shit in the box." He may have colored faintly, but it was probably Yamamoto's imagination.

He read the instructions out loud as he went along, slathering the tar-like substance in the cloudy hair he admired so much, carefully folding up the strands in little bits of foil. Apparently it wasn't actually needed, but Yamamoto liked it. They talked while he worked, about baseball and dynamite and how Lambo was a stupid fucking annoyance and Gokudera was going to make a cushion out of his stupid head. Yamamoto steered the conversation away from Tsuna, from their job. For a little while, he had Gokudera's attention, and while they were sitting waiting for the dye to set, he looked over at the other and asked if he could kiss him.

Gokudera was chain-smoking and muttering about how the foil made him look like some sideshow alien freak and didn't hear him. A smile twitching at his lips, Yamamoto leaned over and pressed his lips to Gokudera's ear, nose brushing the foil squares, causing them to rustle faintly.

Predictably, Gokudera squawked and Yamamoto laughed. Perhaps less predictably, Gokudera's ears turned a lovely shade of puce, and he only muttered oaths under his breath when Yamamoto did it again.

When the alloted time had passed, Gokudera stepped into the shower, and Yamamoto picked the shiny bits of foil from his hair and tossed them vaguely in the direction of the trash can.

The bath was old, and the knobs took some persuading to actually turn. When the water finally burst through the head in a maudlin trickle, Gokudera immediately plunged his head under it, hissing as dye washed into his eyes.

"Hey." Yamamoto stepped in and tilted the other's head back, rinsing the streaks off of his face, carefully wiping his eyes clean. "Better?" A brilliant smile painted his face, much to Gokudera's furious disapproval.

"Shut up," Gokudera snapped. "You're getting wet."

"Haha, you're right."

Ribbons of black poured down his chest, clinging to the dips and valleys of his body like a second skin, highlighting his slim muscles. He looked strange, sea-deep eyes squinting out from the dark hair clinging to his face. Yamamoto swallowed thickly.

"Hey, idiot."

"Yeah?"

"You're touching me."

"Yeah, I know."

Gokudera frowned and Yamamoto laughed. Idiot. Fingers curled grudgingly into Yamamoto's shirt. The fabric was drenched, clinging to his frame in a manner that really couldn't be ignored. Gokudera could feel him shiver with excitement as their lips met.

The kiss was slow. It was awkward and hesitant and sloppy. Clearly neither of them had much experience with this sort of thing, but that was alright. They learned together, tasting and feeling.

Finally coming to terms with himself, Gokudera peeled the idiot's shirt off. Fuck him for being in such good shape. Breath caught in his throat as the clinging fabric inched higher and higher. Stupid baseball freak. He jerked the shirt off over his head and threw it against the wall with a wet smack. Growling, Gokudera glowered up into warm chocolate eyes before yanking Yamamoto's head down and crushing their mouths together.

He tried to ignore how the idiot had his giant idiot hands on his back, tracing up and down his spine. Shivering, he allowed the idiot to pull him close (Jesus _fuck_! He could probably stretch an octave and a half with those fucking huge hands).

The intensity of their kiss escalated, slow sensuality burning into needy desire. The delicious, slow heat between them grew, sparking and roiling. Fingers scraped skin, hungry touches pawing at each other. Shorts were unceremoniously kicked off, shuddering hips pressing and bucking together, starved for friction.

Eventually, their legs gave out and they fell to the shower floor in slow motion, devouring each other with a frantic intensity that drove them mad and then shattered them together, Yamamoto just a split second behind and for once, and then both were silent.

Eventually, the hot water heater started to give out, lukewarm water spilling from the shower head onto the two flushed bodies entwined on the floor, rinsing away the evidence.


End file.
